


Can’t say I’m surprised

by StopitGerald



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: AFAB Hawke, Darktown (Dragon Age), Exhibitionism, F/M, Magic Fingers, Non-Binary Hawke - Freeform, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, a little bit of body worship if you squint, general Anders horniness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopitGerald/pseuds/StopitGerald
Summary: Does it make anyone blink twice that Anders likes a little danger?
Relationships: Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Can’t say I’m surprised

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I think Anders is sexy. Yes I want to beat him up. Any other questions?
> 
> Anyways this is my NB Hawke, Mallory. But it’s vague enough that really idc if you insert. Lol get it? Insert?
> 
> Crack myself up.

Hawke has no idea how they let themselves get into this, er-  _ conundrum. _

Anders has them pressed against the wall, filthy, streaked concrete pressed to the front of their slacks and shirt. The couple is in an alleyway in Darktown, one of the runoff shafts that meanders away from the rest of the more busy parts of the underground. They are… out of sight, but still very much in public.

It’d been innocent enough, and the other mage had given no warning signs leading up to the feel of his firm front pressed sternly against their back, unrelenting and so  _ warm  _ to the touch. They’d been snooping around, looking for any signs of dangerous thugs or runaway mercenaries gone rogue that needed dispatched. 

Playing guard was the only way Hawke knew how to help Aveline, the poor woman. Too much on her plate these days.

Anders isn’t necessarily the most talkative, though he’s not quite the silent type either, but he certainly hadn’t said anything that gave Hawke the impression that he planned on seducing them in an alleyway. There hadn’t even been some sort of heated gaze before Hawke turned to walk down the alleyway, for maker’s sake!

“What are you  _ doing?” _

They manage, though their cheek is pressed to firm wall, and their hands caught at their sides. The mage could easily throw Anders off of them, send him careening into the open and give him a shock for good measure, but it’s not necessarily  _ unwelcome _ , just… uncharacteristic, surprising.

They’d been, as you might say, fooling around, now, for a while. Three years they’ve known each other, and each one of those years was another barrier dissolved and the tension mounting between them. It had been fine for Hawke to simply have another mage friend who  _ understood _ what it was like to hide out. Non-Magical family and a dwarf for a best friend really didn’t spark a lot of mage-related conversation.

Still, as Anders dips his head to brush his lips over the shell of their ear, Hawke is more than a little glad that they’d let the relationship get off of the ground. 

He’s handsome, and quick witted- a smile to die for, if you can get him to show it. He makes good company, and Hawke found themself calling on him more and more as time had passed, needing his companionship above the others.

Varric had warned them about stuff like this, mage trysts in alleyways and all the other sort of scandalous dalliances that he writes about in his novels.

“Hawke,” he says, voice low and easy, a timbre that comes out absolutely filthy as they feel his hips press more firmly to their ass, one of his hands curling around the joint of their hip and the other coming to wrap around their midsection.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s begging them,  _ tell me not to do something so…  _ but it’s also permissive, he’s giving them an out, a chance to tell him ‘no’.

It’s not like either of them are virgins, and certainly not to each other, but they’re  _ in public. _

It’s the fondness for him and the way he’s come to treat her that bubbles and threatens to burst from their throat as their heart hammers in their chest that has Hawke keeping silent, not telling him no, but spurring him forwards,  _ yes. _

He groans low, almost a moan, and brushes thick, black hair from the back of their neck to kiss the skin there, warm, wetted lips leaving suckling little marks across the soft, flushing flesh of their neck and shoulder. 

He pushes the tunic to its stretching limit as he roughly tugs it down Hawke’s shoulder blade, giving him access to the sun-freckled skin there as he kisses languid, like they’re at home in bed and not having a tryst in an alley.

His hands have begun to wander, and Hawke feels their own fingers buzz with anticipation. No fair, they think, I want to touch. But there’s no way for them to free their arms with the way he’s got them pressed to the wall, and shifting too much might cause him to spook off. They want to grab a fistful of that golden hair, cup those cheeks and kiss him proper on the mouth, run their hands down his front to undo every single, annoying little button on that maker-damned coat and tunic.

He’s shoved his hand unceremoniously up their shirt, hand rising, and he leans off of them just the littlest bit so he can grope at their chest, skilled, healing fingers soothing over tender flesh- he’s being strangely gentle, given the situation. Until Hawke can feel the sudden charge in the air, feel it under his bare skin where they’re pressed together, and then his finger tips are alive with static electricity, and he uses their moment of surprise to his advantage and takes a nipple firmly between his fingers and  _ pinches _ .

“Ow!” They suck a breath in through their teeth and let it seethe back out, their breathing has picked up into shallow pants as he fondles them.

“I’ve… thought about this,” he admits, but his hand leaving their chest and the way he pushes them back to the wall tells Hawke this isn’t a two way conversation. Just him talking aloud.

“Thought about how I might have you,” he kisses their neck again, groans when Hawke grinds their hips back against his, “out where someone could find us.”

_ Ah, so he’s a kinky one, then. _

They should’ve expected that, really, with the way Anders is, but it still comes as just enough of a shock to have pleasant goosebumps running down their exposed forearms and hair rising along their spine.

They feel him shift, and a deep spike of lust runs through their core, hanging low in their belly and nearly causing them to groan out in desire. The feeling of their clothing rubbing against one another, concealing hot, wanting skin. 

When they hear the sounds of little metal buttons plinking against one another, they rut their forehead against the stone in front of them and moan under their breath. They can almost imagine, with a hyperactive imagination and pictures of all the times they’ve had each other before- the way he looks behind them right now.

Shaking hands in aroused nervousness, flush running down those cheeks into his neck, under the collar of his coat, which now feels like burning leaf from the way his skin feels aflame with all of this- his pupils blown out as he takes in the sight of Hawke pliant and ready before him- his hand dipping below the waist of his-

Reality snaps back to their mind when he seemingly finishes with his task of opening his clothing, like he’d done to Hawke’s shirt. No way are either of them getting fully indecent in the open like this, but that’s part of the fun- a half clothed, semi public romp- the sort of tales you hear in the bar.

His hands come to their hips, a firm, familiar weight on either side of their body, those welcome, warm fingers curling into the dip of their side. Hawke can hardly stand it anymore, the way he's moving so slowly. So casually.

“Maker, Anders,” they groan, wiggling enticingly between the grip of his palms, “please, please.”

The breathiness in their voice spurs him on, he hooks his fingertips in the waist of their trousers and begins to slide them down over their ass and hips, one of his hands smooths over the skin as it becomes exposed, reverant, wanting, and warm.

He leans over them, just as the hem comes to rest over the dip of Hawke’s backside, pressing his lips to their cheek where he can reach. They can see him from the corner of their eye, and he’s quite a sight. Nice and pink, flush from arousal and exhilaration, and when they make eye contact, an involuntary smile, fond and familiar, forms on his lips. 

“Maker, this never gets old, you know.” 

Hawke would agree if they could speak, but they're too focused on breathing, trying to keep themselves steady against the onslaught of his lips on their shoulder, upper back, and neck, and his questing hands shoving their breeches the rest of the way to their knees. 

  
  


Hawke doesn’t even realize that they’re gasping aloud when his hands wander down between their legs, long, thick fingers running a smooth line down to their slit. They teasingly apply pressure and then are back to a ghost of a touch, and Hawke practically squeals in protest, gasping, pouting.

“Mm, so wet for me already,” he groans, and when he presses himself against Hawke again, moving his hand to come between their legs by wrapping around their side, they can feel the scorching hot hardness of him, teasing against the back of their thighs, and resting against their ass.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” He asks, filthy and low as he bites their earlobe and grinds himself against their ass. He’s always been a talker in bed, he likes to illustrate things out for them in detail, and sometimes he says things so dirty that Hawke thinks he ought to help Varric with his novels. 

There is nothing but the two of them, now, at least for Hawke, when his fingers rejoin with their slick between their legs. Sliding against the slit of them and pressing into where they’ve become so ready with arousal for him, so ready for his touch. He’s got deft, strong hands, talented and skilled, and  _ agile.  _

Need and desperation shoot up through Hawke’s spine, making them gasp and writhe as he begins to push his fingers into them as best he can from this angle, his thumb tracing ghost circles over their swollen and neglected clit. They rock back onto him and muffle a soft cry in the meat of their own arm as they bring it to rest their face on something other than stone, bracing themself.

Anders groans at the contact and actually  _ growls _ as he pushes back with just as much force, grinding his cock into their backside. With a couple fleeting circles against their nerves, he pulls his hand away and Hawke almost protests the loss of stimulation.

When they hear him spit into his own hand, they can’t help but practically envision the way he’d grip his generous length in one hand and stroke himself to readiness, eyeing them like a prize he's won.

“Oh, shit,” they gasp, eyes rolling to show their whites and shuddering at the way they imagine him, at the feeling of him slotting himself between their thighs, “ _ yessss _ , Anders, c’mon,”

He chuckles, voice husk and dripping with desire. One of his hands steadies their hips, gripping with enough force that there’ll be a beautiful handprint later, evidence of their lovemaking that someone will accidentally see as they change armor sets. They push back against him as his other hand moves to guide himself to them.

It’s this moment that Hawke feels is the first time, every time. Their kisses and touches have grown familiar, comforting, experienced, but this- his hands on their hips, the swell of him pressed against their entrance. The way it feels, already so slick with arousal, with need, when the resistance yields and he fills them with a languid push. 

They shudder hard underneath his weight as he leans across their back, his grip trembling now, his breath comes in a slow grunt against their ear. Hawke  _ whines _ , moans deep in their chest and pushes back that last inch to fully hilt him inside.

There’s always that pressure, that tingling sense of being so  _ full.  _ Hawke never believed it would be like this, having sex, never believed it would be so fulfilling, that it would send sparks and shocks of need and want and bone deep pleasure through their body.

“Fuck, yea,” they murmur, gasping and jerking hard when Anders returns a finger to their clit, swollen and buzzing and  _ needing.  _

He laughs again, but it’s more breath than sound, and strained against their hair as he presses his into the back of Hawke’s head, then dipping his nose down into the junction of their neck and shoulder, leaving open mouthed kisses against their skin as he starts to move.

Hawke shifts backwards into him as he begins to thrust, always starting out languid and easy, letting them get used to the stretch of him, the push and pull of their skin meeting. They brace their forearms on the wall and lean their head forward in the space between, eyes screwed shut and panting for breath as Anders starts to find a rhythm behind them.

It’s not going to take long, for them, not with the way he’s thumbing her clit so expertly, not with the kisses and stinging bites he’s leaning over the expanse of their upper back as he leans over them, hips pushing together, rutting and rocking into the need for one another.

When Anders uses his boot to push Hawke’s feet further apart, drawing them lower into an arched position, and finding an entire new angle, new depth, Hawke cries out, loud enough that someone has definitely heard. But at this point, all they can feel is Anders hands on their body, his mouth, the way his hips meet theirs and he pushes deep into them, the sound of his strained, trembling gasps into their ear as he moans under his breath, little sweet nothings that they can’t quite catch. 

His thrusts speed up, obviously nearing his own end as well, and Hawke dips their back even further, pushing back into each savage thrust forward into them, reaching down to join their fingers with Anders in touching themselves, feeling where his cock is sliding against their slick skin. 

“Hawke.” He gasps, he bites down on their neck, “Come for me, love.”

That voice is all it takes to push them over, they press hard onto the balls of their feet, muffle an absolute  _ shriek _ in the meat of their own arm as they bite down, eyes screwed shut as wave after wave of unrelenting pleasure radiates from their core up to chest and through their head- dizzying them and blinding them to everything except the sounds their lover is making over their shoulder and the erratic way he loses his rhythm.

He follows after them, rushed to his end by the feeling of them squeezing tight like a vice around him, by the cries and shudders and the muffled gasps of his own name. A few last jerky thrusts on unsteady and shaking knees, and then he’s slumping against Hawke’s back, emptying himself into them, and groaning rather loudly, albeit hoarsely, into their ear.

“Fuck, Hawke,” he groans, his grip faltering as they sway haphazardly against the wall, “that’s- you’re magnificent.”

They laugh, but it comes out choked and breathy, still both of them panting hard and slumped together. Hawke has to dispel any thoughts of discomfort on how horrible the walk back to his clinic is going to be with their spend dripping down their thighs. 

Instead, they turn halfway and curl an arm around his shoulders, hoisting themselves against him and into his arms. He slips from within her and shifts to gather them close to him, his soft laughter muffled in their hair.

“We shouldn’t have… oh maker,” and he’s laughing still, joyful, and it warms Hawke’s heart to see him focused on something that doesn’t have his blood pressure through the roof and his mind in knots. These moments of respite form Justice, Hawke knows they’ll never be able to deny him these.

They shift back into their clothes enough to be decent, and Anders lingers for a moment, brow furrowing as the aftershocks wear away and reality comes back, but Hawke doesn’t go, they come back to his side and lace their fingers with his, tugging him out of the alley, heading to the clinic.

“Come on, love,” they say to him, smiling, “we can pick this up on your examination table,”

And he smiles, and follows.

  
  



End file.
